Alright. I’m popping the living hell out of my proverbial online cherry as we speak, so forgive me if I seem rough around the edges or moan gregariously in the middle of my post. Oooh! Sorry.
Anyway, I’ve been writing for some time now, and I’ve also been addicted to Fallout 3 for some time now as well. After bombing the pants off of the Enclave at Adams Air Force Base the other day, I got an idea. A crazy -some might say moronic -idea, but an idea nonetheless.
Why don’t I write one of those fanfictions that I hear exist but never read because they sound awfully uninteresting? For a short period of time, my question answered itself. Then, I read Lee Bradley’s Fallout fanfics yesterday. I decided that, if my quality of writing was hardcore enough, maybe the good old Bitmob folks would say, "This doesn’t suck! Run it!" So, viewing public (and hopefully somebody with Btimob-y power), for your consideration – Oohh!!! Sorry. :
The Legend of the Vault 87 Dweller
Introduction
One of my earliest memories is when the goddam Frankensteins broke into the Vault. We were a scared family before that. It was the fright that kept us together in the Vault for those seven years. It was the hands of a huge, green-and-yellow, dumb freak that tore our family apart. Literally for some of us.
I remember reading a book in Arlington that started out with the narrator recounting his earliest memory. In his case, it was his mother and father teaching him how to ride a bike. That was a phrase that I didn’t understand at the time. I understood each individual word; I’m no stranger to the English language, like some of us in the Wasteland. Mother: Female parental unit. Father: Male parental unit. And: An article implying the final idea in a sequence of ideas. I’d never seen them all work as a team. Together, they created a strange, gigantic, and foreign creature that I’d never seen and caused me to shrink back in awe of such an alien concept. In the Capital Wasteland, you never have both of your parents. In the Capital Wasteland, your earliest memories involves your mother being torn to pieces by one of the goddam Frankensteins.
My name is Seras Creed, and this is the story of the Capital Wasteland through the eyes of a Vault Dweller. If you’re looking for an escape, maybe you should try to find an old broadcast tape of Captain Cosmos. If you’re looking for reality and truth to be passed down to what might be a future civilization, go ahead and keep reading. [Editor’s Note: This siems like somthin Serass mite say, "Thiss stori don’t end vary well. If your lukin forward to a hapy reyunyun with my Pah, your lukin in teh rong plase."]